The Knight and the Knave

Chapter 2   Sunder considered their options. "I would favor fording the River Yol to see if the Tehnites are still paying for troll carcasses. I would not want you lads getting soft from too much time without a good fray." Everyone at the table smiled at his words. There were cries of "Aye, aye" and wine was poured for all.  "Failing that, we could take ship down the Artonsamay, and see if King Archbold of Nyrond or Countess Belissica of Urnst need help fighting off raids from the Bandit Kingdoms. " "I still say that hunting trolls is our best option for now," Lotheneser added. "They do not pose any particular threat to our company, yet are enough of a disturbance to the local folk that they may pay us well for a relatively easy job. True, we won't get rich, and might JUST more than break even, but it is something to do. It will keep our skills honed AND make us a little profit. I agree with Sunder. If we do not do something we will grow soft and then become the 'Company of the Pigeon'. The men burst into laughter. The half-elf's wit always made them laugh. Trolls were dangerous creatures, in truth. Vicious and hard to kill. Trolls were fearless opponents, and could be slain only be fire or immersion in acid. All other wounds inflicted on them would heal in moments, and any severed limbs would continue to fight as if with a mind of their own. In packs, they were nigh invincible, except if greatly outnumbered. "By Kord, Lotheneser!" Arngrim added with a grin. "With you in the lead, it will be easy indeed. While they are fighting over who gets to eat your scrawny hide, the rest of us will jump in and surprise them!" The men laughed anew. Lotheneser, not to be outdone, thought quickly. "Besides, this town is boring me to tears," Lotheneser was on a roll. "The wine is acceptable, but the amusements are nearly non-existent. I fear I may try to lift a purse or two just to spice things up a little. And I am actually considering letting myself be "discovered" in my appropriations. I swear by the gods! I have not been this bored since my brief stay in the dungeons of Rauxes seventeen years ago. Now THAT was boring, but not much more than this!" The men chuckled again, though this time they looked around, uneasy at the half-elf's words. In this land, such things made poor jokes, especially in the eyes of the Questioners.  "You know what I REALLY miss? A good dwarven banquet! Lots of good meat, lots of good ale, and lots of drunken dwarves briefly in possession of lots of gold, just waiting to find a new owner! Throw in an elven maiden or two and you have one very happy scout!" He said with a smile and a laugh at Ghallar, who did not particularly care for the inference of drunken dwarves, gold and sticky elven fingers. His scowl deepened. The men quickly sobered up, remembering where they were. They must be careful. Anyone might be listening. Chiding himself for his careless words, Lotheneser surveyed the room, looking for anyone who seemed to be taking an unhealthy interest in their conversation. Besides his own sensitive jest, the Company had been discussing their wealth and their future destination. A good scout was always on the lookout for trouble. And sure enough, there came trouble. The plain fellow in the next table stood up and approached them.   -----o-----   "Good morrow, gentle sirs," The young man addressed the mercenaries in a friendly manner. "I couldn't help but overhear your current economic situation. Not a smart move, discussing that in a public place, but thank the good graces of Pholtus you are in this town and not any other. That piece of advice is on the house." The man grinned. "Perhaps I can interest you in earning some coin? Maybe even some favors in a place like this?" His voice dropped to a whisper. He muttered to himself in a sly undertone, barely audible to the nearest members. Only Lotheneser, with his sharp hearing could make out the words clearly: "You never know when such things might come in handy." "Some Celene Firebrandy perhaps in exchange for a little information that might be of interest to you?" he added, louder this time, and turned to motion the barmaid to the table. He ordered a round of the expensive elven liquor, pulled up a chair and sat down. Ghallar and Durlan scowled at this. The man presumed too much. How dare he! The young fellow merely ignored their angry stares. "Perhaps I can help you find some extra coin, as I mentioned before, and gain a couple of acquaintances here and there. It has come to my knowledge that a certain 'favor' needs to be done for the local authorities." He winked at the serving wench bringing the six goblets to the table. "Nothing fancy, but due to some 'unexpected circumstances' the local brass hasn't been able to allocate the adequate resources to resolve the matter, so they're looking for seasoned 'outside help' in order to deal with this situation. I believe you're the kind of people who could get the job done in no time, not much sweat involved, and the local brass is known to pay nicely for favors such as these..." He smiled, taking a swig from his drink. Sunder strained his ears, trying to catch his words. The young man managed to maintain a tone of voice just barely above the background noise. Anybody trying to eavesdrop on the conversation at hand would have to noticeably approach the table. Probably just what he has in mind, Sunder thought. He seems alert and already looking out for this. "Well, you have at least my interest. For if you are as perceptive as you seem to be, you know we are sell-swords." Sunder said sullenly, wondering at the audacity of this o'erweening little rogue. "Are you suggesting that the Wintershiven authorities have a problem requiring force of arms but cannot interfere themselves? And a more interesting tale may be how a foreigner came by such information. Tell us of this "favor" we could do... just what is your name?" he added, unable to keep the growing irritation from his voice.  "And what is it you stand to gain by helping us?" Keras added, eyeing him suspiciously. "Oh Sunder, but where are my manners?!?" The man replied, with a mocking little smile on his face. His tone was meant to disarm, but only succeeded in making them wary. "That's 'Captain Threndor', to you," Durlan grumbled. The young man ignored him.  "My name is Emanniel Wryht and I just drove here from Midmeadow, down south. I hired on as a cart-driver in one of the local trading caravans, but decided to keep the contract short and make the trip one way only. Farmfolk 'round here can surely be a boring lot at times, as you have surely noticed! Hahahaha!!!" Emanniel laughed heartily and slapped his thigh. He motioned the barmaid for another round of elven wine, and some spiced potatoes to accompany the drink. "Along the way we met another small caravan coming from Wintershiven, and you know how it goes. Caravan 'stewpot stories', rumors here, gossip there... a young maid and I wound up sharing a bottle of an excellent vintage, and she told me about the local news and about the brass needing some extra muscle to deal with some domestic matters." As the barmaid walked over with the platter of steaming potatoes and the wine carafe, he slapped her rump in a friendly manner, excusing himself with a mischievous smile on his lips. The barmaid flushed at this, but managed to wink an eye, an obvious promise of a later rendezvous. "And as for what I stand to gain by helping you, Keras? Well, helping myself! Isn't it obvious? The brass is looking for a group of people. I know a way to directly contact them. So, we get an audience, get hired, fulfill the task, which I obviously couldn't do by myself, and we get paid! Along the way, who knows? We may gain some favors here and there and maybe even get re-hired on an occasional basis?! Who wouldn't like some regular extra-coin every now and then, huh?!" Emanniel gulped down some wine and ate heartily from the spiced potatoes. "So, what do you people say? Still interested?... Easy money, I tell you!" "Well, friend, it seems that you too are a "merchant." Lotheneser had been appraising this cocky fellow. His plain clothes did little to disguise the man's confident stride and graceful movements. The ornate dagger at his side clashed with the commoner's clothes. To a keen observer, this was a plainly dangerous man, one who sought to draw as little attention to himself as possible. His choice of words marked him for a thief and a liar. He flaunted his knowledge, attempting to throw them off guard by calling them by their names, thus leaving them to wonder how much he really knew. Though perhaps he did this to announce himself, to show he meant no harm. Lotheneser discretely signaled with one hand. In the secret language of thieves, such a signal was given when a thief wished to identify himself in order to contact the thieves' guild in a foreign territory. Lotheneser meant it as a warning. I know what you are. Tread carefully. If this Emanniel understood the warning, he gave no sign. Lotheneser pressed him further. "Perhaps you can explain to me and my friends the offer you propose. After all, if we were to help the wrong members of the 'brass', that could result in detriment to our future employability, not to mention the separation of our bodies from the rest of our heads." Lotheneser smiled at his play on words. "So, please explain yourself and be forthcoming." "Yes, do so, Emanniel," Sunder said, scowling. "I am more impressed than interested. By how you can use so many words to say nothing at all. Again I say, Palish authorities- I assume this is what you mean by 'brass'- are not known for needing outsiders or subterfuge to resolve any internal matter. We Ravens are mercenaries, but not scofflaws. What is it exactly that you say we can help with?" Sunder, introverted by nature, was not fond of these fancy word games. Besides, he did not relish the thought of "getting re-hired on an occasional basis" in the Pale. Emanniel ignored their questions. "Oh my, all this wine is beginning to work its effects on me! If you'll excuse me, I have to go outside and relieve myself!  Hehehehe... " His voice dropped to a whisper. "Some matters need to be dealt with the greatest care, don't you think?" As Emanniel stood up, he discretely motioned the mercenaries to follow him outside. Sunder, Lotheneser, Keras, and Arngrim waited for the young man to leave, then followed him, looking out for signs of ambush. Sunder signaled Durlan and Ghallar to remain at the inn for now. Ghallar moved to join Sunder, but Durlan raised an arm to stop him. The dwarf's honor compelled him to obey the Company's leader.  When Emanniel entered the alley next to the inn, Arngrim stayed behind to watch the others' backs and serve as lookout. The other three men joined the young man in the alley. Sunder asked impatiently: "Now, will you tell us what is this task we would profit from doing? We tire of these games." Ignoring his question, Emanniel started to relieve himself, while looking around for signs of ambush or eavesdropping. "I'm sorry for all this cloak and dagger ordeal, friend Sunder, but the local folk seem a little bit alarmist when it comes to matters pertaining to the Church and the safety of the township. Apparently some trouble with a band of trolls has arisen in the northern lands and the Prelate's forces have been unable to deal with the situation. From the looks of it, some magic is involved. Apparently the request for help is coming from the "top rungs on the Church ladder," so the coin has got to be good. Now I'm not saying this is going to be easy, but your group seems to be able to handle it. I for one would like to have your men as back-up if push comes to shove... heheheh" He chuckled as he finished his business. "In any case, your group seems like an experienced bunch in the arts of combat. We should head back inside the tavern now and finish our business, you know how curious farmfolk can get," Emanniel turned to walk back to the tavern. Sunder and Arngrim's bulk blocked the way, somber expressions on their faces. One-eyed Arngrim looked especially menacing. "Now a troll-hunting expedition would interest us. But what do you know about this sorcery you speak of? And more importantly, you refer to us as 'back-up'. How do we know we can trust you in battle when we have only now met? I know well appearances can be deceiving, but you do not have the mien of a warrior. " The ranger and the Northman showed no intention of moving aside until their questions were answered. Emanniel looked up at Sunder, straight in the eye, sizing him up. "I have no idea what this magic is about, I'm not a spellweaver, but I'm sure your trained eye has noticed that already. I don't dabble in the arts. As for my skill in battle, well, we'll have to see about that, now, won't we? One thing is for sure, strength isn't the only thing that determines success in a confrontation. But I'm sure you should know about that, right?" Emanniel kept looking Sunder in the eye. "As for how far can you trust me... well, I walked into an alley alone with three of your men. And I'm also willing to face this 'magical threat' along with your people, even though I haven't seen your warriors' mien, as you put it. Think about it for a second." Emanniel smirked, then exhaled. "But perhaps I was wrong in my appraisal, perhaps you're not the group you appear to be. Excuse me for interrupting your conversation and making you waste your time. Now if you're so kind as to stop blocking my way, I have a plate of spiced potatoes growing cold on the table, a glass of liquor that needs tending to, and a lady to take care of later tonight." Sunder stared back for a moment, then laughed. A good-natured, sincere laugh. "Well, now. At last some honest answers, even if followed by more bluster. I do not think my eye is trained enough to identify spellweavers, but I do have experience in judging courage. I salute yours. I, too, have had enough of this alley. Come, finish your breakfast, and tell us who we are to meet about this expedition." Arngrim laughed in great guffaws, and slapped Emanniel on the back. "Kord's blood! The lad's got some spine! I like him already." The tall Northman was easily impressed by shows of bravado. Keras and Lotheneser were not so easily put off guard. "Your tale seems interesting, yet how can we confirm its veracity?" Keras spoke in a soft voice, yet his eyes sought to probe deep into the young rogue's soul. He was impressed by Emanniel's bravado, but did not trust him yet. "How can anyone confirm anything these days, friend Keras? I don't have the head of an 'attacking troll' with me at the moment or the means to summon up a Church guard that has been there to confirm this. I guess you're gonna have to trust me as much as I trusted you in this dark, back alley, for now you know as much as I do." Emanniel was starting to look a little bit exasperated. "If you don't want to do this, fine, don't do it. Perhaps I judged you wrong from the start, my mistake. But can I please ask you not to start any rumors around the populace? As I mentioned before, the faithful around here can be an alarmist bunch. Now excuse me, for I hunger. My meal awaits." "I'm afraid your meal may have taken passage on another's empty stomach. It is unwise to leave unfinished food and drink anywhere NEAR hungry soldiers, especially soldiers as mean, tough and combative as those who serve Captain Threndor in the Company of the Raven," Lotheneser's tone carried a definite note of hostility. He was not impressed with Emanniel's words. It just seemed to him that Emanniel could very well be a thief looking for a way out of town safe from authorities. An opportunist who would "join" the Company either as a spy or as a "camp follower" and then desert them at the first opportunity. Either way, he was very likely an "empty" merchant, one who promised much but delivered naught. "IF however, any morsel of your late dinner remains untouched, you have my leave to consume it. However, I do wish to know, as does my captain, ARE you looking for work? If so, what makes you think that you are worthy of forming part of the Company of the Raven? The Captain would be very annoyed of he were to wake up one morning and find that our newest recruit had given him an "orcish neck-tie" during the night, and if he seems unfriendly now, you should see him in the morning when he is newly awakened." This last was said with a roguish smile and a wink at Sunder. "Before his morning draught, he has been known to eat ogre warriors, whole, using their foul swords as toothpicks when he is done! Alas! the rest of the Company is not so cheerful, or tolerant!" The half-elf believed that the best way to deal with a rogue was to match his bravado. Let us see how he reacts now, he thought. Sunder was a fine captain, and a brave soul, but his heart was too open. He was not used to the deceit and trickery inherent to man like this. At the first opportunity, he would try to communicate his misgivings to Sunder. Before Emanniel could open his mouth to reply, Sunder laughed again. "Peace, friend Cuthalion!" The ranger called him 'Strongbow' in the tongue of the elves. It was meant to soothe Lotheneser, who would not let down his guard. "If Emanniel has been truthful with us, which we have no reason to doubt, he has shown us trust we have yet to reciprocate, even if he does so in an o'erweening manner." Sunder smiled briefly, as did Lotheneser. Very well, the half-elf thought. I will let it go for now, but I'll keep my eyes open. The look he gave Emanniel revealed his thoughts as if he had spoken them aloud. Emanniel seemed to understand, and nodded his acceptance. "Now trust, Emanniel, is something that must be earned as well as given, and only Istus knows what awaits us. But if you are not truthful, we will not find out by arguing in this alley's stench. All this talk of potatoes is making me hungry again. Let us all finish our breakfast, and then see what kind of a bounty the Theocrats place on trolls." Sunder headed into the tavern, tired of long speech he was not accustomed to. He liked Emanniel's spirit, and his caution was mainly to assure the newcomer would not present a threat to the Company. He also was not skilled at such convoluted speech, and appreciated honesty and directness in others. He had not meant to intimidate Emanniel, only to get to the point. The blademaster was a direct man. Yet he was not naïve. When Emanniel had entered the inn, Sunder whispered at Lotheneser's ear. "Lotheneser, keep an eye on our new friend, until such a time as he has proved his worth. Your experience in these... err.... matters.... makes you well suited for this." Good, thought the half-elf.  He is learning.    -----o-----   The Company followed the cocky young man through the cobbled streets of Wintershiven. Patches of recently fallen snow dotted the ground. The men wrapped heavy woolen cloaks around themselves to ward off the chill air. It was a crisp winter morning, the pale light of the sun shone amidst blue skies. Palish men and women crowded the streets, going about their business now that the Needfest celebration was over. Emanniel led Sunder, Lotheneser and Keras past bustling marketplaces and busy streets. Ghallar followed closely behind them, protecting their rear flank. The rest of the Company awaited back at the inn. Durlan was directing the preparations for their departure. Emanniel had been introduced to all, and had met with different reactions. Eliazar and Jisander had shown immediate hostility. Like Lotheneser, they were quick to recognize a fellow thief when they saw him. They seemed like a pack of dogs, defending their territory. They met Emanniel with cool stares and open dislike. Emanniel returned the stares. Asharak of the Chakyik was completely indifferent, and for the most part ignored the newcomer. The rest of the men had been somewhat hesitant at first, but had quickly accepted the young man, seeing as how Sunder and Arngrim seemed to have done the same. The streets finally opened into a large plaza. The men halted, awestruck at the sight before them. The magnificent Cathedral-Palace of the Supreme Prelate of Pholtus rose before them in baroque splendor. Iron bells sang, signaling the end of the morning's service. Snow covered gargoyles grinned above ornately carved buttresses. The white snow contrasted sharply with the dark gray stone of the edifice. Dark, lofty steeples and colorful stained glass windows proclaimed the glories of the Lightbringer.   -----o-----   Brother Mikal led them through the hallowed corridors of the Cathedral-Palace. The voices of choirs chanted hymns to the god Pholtus in Old Oeridian, the language of the Aerdi tribes who had settled in the eastern portions of the Flanaess. One of the precursors of the modern Common tongue. All around them, black-robed monks moved among white-clad priests, conducting the business of governing this nation and promoting their spiritual wellbeing. All under the watchful eyes of the Templar Knights, who solemnly stood guard, with their silver armor shining like mirrors. The heart of the Theocracy beat within these walls. The Companions prepared themselves for this meeting. Emanniel had led them to a side door at the eastern wing of the Cathedral-Palace, where he had conversed briefly with a guard, amidst reassuring gestures and smiles at the mercenaries behind him. The guard had disappeared inside, only to return with a monk in black robes, who had bid them enter. The fellow had introduced himself as Brother Mikal. He was a tall, thin man with a rather large nose. His black robe was adorned only with a simple white cord tied around his waist, indicating his humble status as a member of the lowest rank of the priesthood. Those monks of greater stature wore silver or golden cords to signify their positions in the hierarchy. The priests themselves wore white robes, with a similar ranking system using colored sashes instead of cords. Brother Mikal squinted constantly and bore ink stains on his right hand, the sure mark of a scribe or a sage. One who spent his life amongst books and papers and such. His light brown hair was kept long, tied into a ponytail and reaching to the middle of his back. The Ravens had noted that many of the Templar Knights and priests around them wore their hair in a similar fashion. The Companions were led to a small chamber, a study of some sort, where they were searched by a pair of Templar Knights and asked to surrender their weapons. They did so reluctantly, but understood the necessity for such security in a place like this. Lotheneser and Emanniel, of course, surrendered only those weapons which were visible. Both carried some concealed surprises for unexpected situations. When the guards left, Brother Mikal returned with two more men. The first man was clearly of Palish blood. His olive skin shone with bronze overtones, his handsome features were framed with long honey colored hair, reaching down to his back. The man was clean shaven, in the fashion of the priests, and wore a beatific expression on his face. Pale blue eyes gazed down upon them with kindness. Robes of the purest white inlaid with pearls and platinum in ornate patterns proclaimed his station. Brother Mikal knelt before him, kissed the signet ring on the man's gloved hand and whispered: "Your Worshipful Mercy, as you commanded. These men are mercenaries and have come at your behest." The hair on the back of Lotheneser's neck raised with the dawning realization that they stood before none other than the Supreme Prelate of the Pale, Theocrat Ogon Tillit. The man's benevolent expression belied the stories of ruthlessness and cold-blooded efficiency with which he was reputed to rule this state. They would have to be careful. Very careful. This was certainly the most dangerous man in the region. At a word from him, an entire nation of religious fanatics could be raised up against them. While Sunder and the rest of the Companions bowed and murmured politely as they were introduced to the Theocrat, Lotheneser eyed the second man, who stood to the side. The man could not be more dissimilar to their host. It was the color of a bleached skull, his flesh; and the long hair which flowed below his shoulders was milk-white. Crimson eyes over delicate features completed the unearthly sight. The man's appearance almost screamed of his Suel heritage. The albino wore blood red robes, simple in their design, and spoke little. He was introduced as Koram-ad-Kor, a personal advisor to the Supreme Prelate. Lotheneser noted a strange scarlet tattoo on the inside of the man's left forearm: a wavy four-pointed star. He had never seen such a sign before. Not wishing to draw attention to what he had seen, the half-elf averted his gaze, only to meet Emanniel's stare. He had seen as well. "Thank you, Brother Mikal," the Theocrat dismissed their guide with a smile." You have done well. You have our thanks." The monk bowed deeply with a smile of pleasure at having served his lord, and closed the door as he left. Ogon Tillit bade them sit, as he himself sat on an ornate chair behind an ornate wooden desk. The man in the crimson robe remained standing behind him. "Brother Mikal is truly a devoted individual," he told them. "Few men show such loyalty and faith as he. Did you know he was once a wealthy man?" The Theocrat did not wait for a reply, but continued on. "He was born into a wealthy family and inherited one of the largest, most valuable estates in the realm. Yet one day he was blinded by the Light, and gave up all his worldly possessions to come and serve the Lightbringer as the humblest of monks." The Supreme Prelate smiled fondly, lost in his reverie. "He has great aptitude for numbers and works as a bookkeeper. He thinks little of his own worth, and will not allow me to promote him to the next station. Nearly burst into tears when I told him I wanted to do so. He said his only wish was to serve Holy Pholtus and his chosen people. Such dedication is rare in a man, and so I entrust him with the most delicate tasks. Truly loyal people are hard to find," he added conversationally. "Don't you agree, Captain Threndor? I should think a man in your line of work would value loyalty above all else." Sunder murmured his agreement, obviously ill at ease in the present company. He was not used to addressing heads of states. "The situation is quite simple, actually," The Theocrat continued. "Brother Mikal assures me that you can be relied upon for discreteness, so I will get to the heart of the matter, in spite of my advisor's misgivings." He smiled as he said this last, and the albino inclined his head soberly, in acknowledgement and apparent reaffirmation of his position. "In the past few weeks, the Pale has been beset by a series of vicious attacks. Bands of trolls raid the northern villages, while our Prelatal troops seem helpless to defeat them. The Brilliant Castles to the north have long stood as a barrier against such invasions from the Troll Fens, and the raids conducted by our pagan neighbors to the west in recent years should have proven sufficient to prevent this catastrophe," he mused. "In any case, I have sent hundreds of Templar Knights to combat this threat but they report that the coming and goings of these trolls are concealed by some sort of foul sorcery. This sorcery is the obvious work of pagans and heretics, for the priests and divinators I have sent have been unable to pierce this mystery. And now it seems that trouble has arisen elsewhere, forcing me to withdraw the troops and relocate them to face... " "Your Worshipful Mercy, if I may," the albino advisor interrupted the Supreme Prelate's tale. "Perhaps it would be wise to circumscribe this discussion to the matters of the northern situation." The words were spoken with a subtle Sueloise accent, as if any was needed to confirm the man's heritage. "After all, the affairs of the Theocracy need not trouble these men." "Perhaps you are right, Koram. Let us deal with the situation at hand," Ogon Tillit straightened in his chair. "The mission I propose is simple. You are to ride north to the Troll Fens, pierce this sorcery by whatever means are available to you, and kill whoever is responsible for these attacks. The Church will provide you with whatever equipment you deem necessary for the hunting of these trolls, and letters of authorization will be issued to you for entry into the Brilliant Castles and the lands beyond. Upon successful completion of the assignment, you will be handsomely rewarded." He added. "I will expect your discretion in this matter whether or not you accept this commission. The people of the Pale would be very unsettled by what I have revealed to you here today." The unspoken threat in his voice was evident to all. This man would not allow the populace to lose faith in the power of the Church. Were they to speak of these matters to anyone, they would be denounced as heretics and burnt at the stake. Of that, the Companions were sure.   -----o-----   The Pilgrim's Rest was in a bustle as the mercenaries prepared for their departure. The noonday sun shone brightly above their heads, but provided little warmth in this cold climate. Sunder saddled his new mount, a strong roan stallion, the finest animal purchased at the market. The negotiations had gone better than he expected. The Theocrat had offered them a decent price for their services. The prospect of facing more sorcery was ameliorated by the knowledge that they now bore enchanted weapons. He wagered that Lotheneser's dagger, Tarngrim the Unveiler, would prove very useful in the days ahead.  Likewise, the torches and oil skins purchased with the Theocrat's gold would be invaluable in fighting the trolls. Fire would be their ally. "Captain, the men are ready to ride," Durlan said, having inspected the mercenaries. "Are all present and accounted for?"  Sunder asked.  "Aye, sir. Even our roguish friend has found himself a mount," he gestured towards Emanniel, who rode a bay mare, lean but healthy. "We should reach the first of the Brilliant Castles by nightfall, if we take the northern road," Sunder said. "Raise the standard, Durlan, and let the Company of the Raven ride forth."   -----o-----   Emanniel eased his mount to the back of the column, riding at a gallop. Keras rode at the front, the Raven Banner snapping in the wind. Emanniel grinned with excitement. This whole enterprise was going well. The Theocrat himself had hired them! Once they had completed this task, he would have the necessary protection to continue his search undisturbed. And he feared no sorcery at the Fens. His ensorcelled dagger, Caladar the Spellbreaker, was aptly named. With it at his side, he need not fear at all. -----o-----